“Most assuredly I say to you; unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains
alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (John 12:24).
Our Lord Jesus points out the miracle of life’s renewal in a grain of wheat. The inanimate grain multiplies when it dies and is buried. Living things also hibernate. Now in the late autumn countless millions of cocoons hang from branches across the northern hemisphere. Each contains a living creature entombed in a prison of its own making. What were mere caterpillars are on their way to new bodies and renewal of life. After a lethargic summer, chewing leaves and growing ever rounder, they follow an instinct given them by their Creator to fashion their winter tombs. Countless thousands never make it to that stage. It’s a mystery why so much potential in all forms of life are destined to perish while others go on to regenerate and repopulate the earth.
You know the process: How the caterpillar spends the winter, how it feeds on its own cocoon, and how eventually it must chew through the wall at the right time, slipping through its self-made womb, stretching and testing the moist wings and experience a life style altogether new and fantastic compared to what was a plodding pedestrian existence just a season past. Even we who use superlatives too freely nowadays must admit that this life transformation is nothing short of a miracle, proof that the wise God knows what He is doing with creation.
Let’s apply the Lord’s message to ourselves. To live here on earth is to live alone in some regard. We enter the world alone, we leave it alone, and despite the joy of our parents and relatives at our birth and their grief somewhat tempered by the songs of the Church that accompany our departure, we are essentially on our own throughout this lifetime. But if we see with our Lord’s eyes, we will envision a panoply of living beings waiting for our arrival there on the far side of death’s passageway. Creatures, yes like ourselves, and other creatures, the angelic beings who are created but not in the same way that we are, celebrate our arrival. All that is for us to take delight in, just as the fledgling former caterpillar emerges into the light, tests its eyesight and then deals with the cumbersome attachments to its once fat body, frustrated with what to do with the appendages until it realizes and, if I may be anthropomorphic for a second, rejoices in the ability to soar over the world and see it anew.
Now the enigma: Why must we lose what we love, and why must we hate this world as the admission price for eternity? To really love this life one must be in some sense selfish and crave security. God made us to be selfless and courageous. It’s the sheep that can share the meadow with others, not the goats. It’s the saint who is willing to sacrifice his or her life for Christ and His gospel who stands as an exception to those who live the illusion that anybody can be really sheltered, secure, or safe and sound in the civilization we live in. The greedy person will never be content, because he never has enough. The coward who cherishes his security eventually grows old, weak, infirm and ill. He will ultimately realize his helplessness and despair over it. The one whose life is a service to others is like the caterpillar becoming a butterfly. She is preparing her eventual way of life in God’s Kingdom. There her life of devotion to God and others will not only be welcome, it will be most natural. She who thinks little of her personal existence, for whom life is a gift to share with God’s creatures, will be in her own environment there where all feel that way. She knows that the only true security is found in Christ Jesus, who said, “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (John 14:27).